Legolas and the Balrog

XIII. Together We Will Smite Our Foes

Erestor sighed, a deep, long exhale of supreme relaxation as every smidgen of care, worry, concern, and botheration dissipated, evaporating from his body amid the curling ribbons of steam lifting off the surface of the hot, mineral-rich water. He was alone, steeping in blissful, wilful ignorance of whatever intrigues, plots, pranks, or jests were brewing in King Thranduil's rather volatile household, simply grateful for this chance to recoup the energy exhausted over the course of the lengthy (as in minuial to annûn), lively, and moderately contentious diplomatic sessions spent with Greenwood's trio of Councillors. Oh, the Ladies were certainly gracious, courteous, and congenial enough, but they were also shrewd, calculating, and canny.



The wily seneschal to Elrond Half-elven, veteran of uncounted councils, diets, assemblies, and panels, that glib raconteur famous for his ability to outwit and/or out-palaver the wisest, most venerable, most exalted, and mightiest leaders on Arda, had been negotiating with Thranduil's wives for two days straight without securing the necessary unanimous agreement from the three Queens. Rarely had he encountered such discerning, astute, and farsighted opponents. It was rather like arguing with Mithrandir or Galadriel. His normally calm and collected demeanour of reserved and impassive nobility was starting to erode, revealing too much of his rattled, exasperated, and thoroughly flummoxed faculties.

And yet, Erestor was not disappointed to find his usual strategy of dextrous finesse producing negligible effect. Truth be told, he loved it. He had not had this much fun since the early Second Age whilst mediating the distribution of land and power in Lindon between the vestigial Sindarin nobility of Doriath, their Noldorin counterparts, and the refugees of Gondolin. Yes, he was pleasantly surprised to find his cunning statesmanship stonewalled, astounded to behold his artful command of language thwarted, intrigued to observe his adroit use of subtle psychological and emotional manipulation succinctly rebuffed, and delightfully annoyed to have his brilliant capacity for reversing opposition overturned. Convincing these sylvan matrons to support the initiative of the White Council was rather like trying to forge steel in the flame of a single candle.

Precisely the sort of challenge I was born to conquer. It seems I must truly thank Glorfindel for this opportunity. I did not realise how boring Imladris had become, from a political standpoint.

Another languid sigh escaped into the bathing chamber, echoing through the vaulted space and sending a delicate swirl of sweetly scented mist cavorting up toward the ceiling. Erestor reclined, head propped upon a rolled towel at the rim of the pool, and opened his eyes, having shut them to reanalyse the day's meeting in an attempt to determine a weakness to exploit on the morrow, and stared upon a soothing scene that brought an unbidden smile to his lips. The entire roof of the cavern depicted a soft blue sky adorned with fluffy clouds of pristine white and a pair of soaring song birds, species indeterminate as the avians appeared in vague silhouette. The frazzled advisor's grin broadened as his gaze travelled the curve of the dome bounding the salon.

Every bit of natural stone was sheathed from sight, the entire room tiled in a manner similar to that found on the floor of the Chamber of Starlight. These lovely ceramics were not green, however. From shoulder height down all were glazed a crisp, bright white while those above were stained to imitate the vibrant blue of an early summer sky. Here and there along the walls a butterfly appeared in exquisite detail or a bed of poppies bloomed. On one lone tile a red and gold dragon fly seemed poised above the heated pool. Between these two zones of earth and air a checkered border of pale yellow squares ran around the circumference of the oval spa and the floor was paved in larger versions of saffron tile. The advisor realised this room displayed another representation of the sylvans' unique philosophy of the triple balance, for the water of the bath supplied the third element of Arda.

Erestor chuckled, enjoying how the cheerful sound chased around the room and bounced off the ceiling, returning to him in a higher, younger tone. He liked the King's baths immensely, he decided, though the subterranean thermae was rather less sophisticated in decoration than his private bathing chamber back in Imladris. There his tall, enamelled tub was ensconced in cool, elegant marble and brass appointed luxury. This private spa was whimsical and blithe and carefree. Most certainly designed with the youngest of Thranduil's offspring in mind. He could easily imagine Legolas paddling around in the pool with his Ada or one of his brothers watching over him. Even the youngest Lady of the Raven House was probably not too grown up to appreciate the light-hearted atmosphere.

On that first night in Mirkwood, he had felt insulted when Galion led him to the secluded room, deeming the decorations beneath his august station as Elrond's kinsman and Chief Counsellor, but the butler had patiently explained that it was this or the public baths down the hall, from which quite a bit of boisterous talk and laughter could be discerned, including that of Cugu and Toloth. He was certainly not going to bathe with them. Erestor had grudgingly thanked the ancient sylvan for such hospitality and resigned himself to the minor indignity of washing in the elflings' spa. It was better than being gawked at by every common Wood Elf in Mirkwood. Once in the soothing water, he found himself charmed by the room's decor.

The esteemed seneschal to the Last Homely House laughed and kicked his feet in the water, relishing the consistent warmth, and had to admit there was nothing like this in Elrond's home. A small fountain dispensed a trickle of cool liquid to mix with the heated fluid and prevent it becoming too hot for comfort. An evenly spaced series of rectangular drains ringed the bath to maintain the liquid level just so. The water must empty into a common cistern somewhere below, he reasoned, where it was pumped back up again to spill through the little spigot. It was an ingenious design and while he was not an engineer, Erestor could envision the plumbing required must be both extensive and complicated. He could not deny that he was impressed.

A brief wave of sympathy for the poor underlings assigned to oversee the baths swept through his thoughts. It must be tedious work to keep the fires going beneath the pools and he could only imagine the weary strain resulting from continuously working the pumps. Then he shrugged; someone had to do it and the folk attending his needs in fair Imladris were not unhappy, so why should Wood Elves mind such a task?

Erestor splashed around and ducked under the surface, freeing a bubbly giggle upon viewing the bottom of the bath, which was tiled to look like the bottom of a lake with little pebbles, crabs. snails, and water plants decorating the pale green squares. The only thing missing was a set of toy boats and little wooden ducks. Ah well, I shall have to remember to ask Legolas where they are kept for next time. He returned to free air, hair plastered to head and shoulders, and reached for the soap. Someone out in the public pools was humming a bawdy tune and since he knew the words Erestor decided to sing along, lifting his magnificent voice to full volume as he scrubbed. In no time distant voices joined him, albeit a beat or two behind, and the cavern echoed with the lascivious lyrics.

"…well it could have been worse, he said with a leer,

but that's what you get, my darling, my dear

for trying to make love on the back of a horse…"

Sang Erestor in a baritone rich and full and loud. Very Loud. Much Too Loud to hear the footsteps of an approaching elf. The heavy curtain was abruptly thrown back and the resulting void immediately filled with the tall, commanding presence of Thranduil himself, dressed in rugged hunting garb, sans boots. Erestor made a most undignified noise through his nose and turned a deep shade of red, which he tried to hide by ducking his head under water for a second or two. He surfaced to find Thranduil facing the wall.

"You are in here, just as Galion reported. I did not believe him and when I heard someone singing that ditty I thought one of the guards was drunk and accidentally invaded my private bath. Please forgive my intrusion," he apologised quickly, unable to prevent a hint of mirth from invading his words.

"I see," Erestor was not sure how to react, caught between embarrassment and amused disbelief. He sighed and decided to give in to whimsy. The tale of Thranduil's Private Bath was certain to become a much favoured anecdote upon his return to Imladris. He almost wished he had a witness, for who would believe that the fierce Sindarin King of the wild, uncivilised Wood Elves attended his daily ablutions in such a quaint pool? Mayhap I should give those pebbles a second look; they might be real gems at that. Erestor smiled. "No harm done, King Thranduil, and there is no need to be concerned about my modesty. Please turn around that we may converse more easily."

"Most gracious of you, Lord Erestor," Thranduil did as asked, his eyes alight with merriment. "I must say, you folk of Imladris certainly do like your bathing time. You have been in here so long I was beginning to worry that you had drowned." The leonine monarch was smiling quite cheekily.

"Ah," said Erestor. "I must compliment you on the quality of this lovely spa. I apologise for loosing track of the time, but really the fault must be yours for constructing so relaxing an environment that I hate to leave it too soon. Am I late for an appointment of some sort?"

"Yes. I regret disturbing you and would not do so unless necessary," Thranduil continued. "We must be going, however, or we will never get the very best ones. I simply will not abide coming in last place, especially with Lord Gaearon participating. He won last year and never lets a chance to brag about it pass by unavailed. Do you think you will be ready soon?" Thranduil asked, a hopeful cast to his comely countenance.

Erestor stared, desperately trying to recall what the King was talking about. He hated to admit it but he had no memory of being invited to this particular event. It sounded like a contest; surely he would remember that? Well, whatever it was, forgetting it was simply unacceptable. He did not want the Sindarin royal to deem him either dim-witted or disinterested. Yet despite his concerns, the seneschal's curiosity was piqued, for Thranduil's manner was certainly unusual in an elf with so many cares and woes. For all his daunting strength and majesty and underlying grief, at this moment he reminded Erestor very much of the little golden-haired elfling prince. The mighty King of the Wood Elves could scarcely contain his excited anticipation and Elrond's kinsman smiled to see it.

"I can be ready in mere minutes, Your Majesty," he replied. "I need only to wash my hair."

"Oh, must you?" Thranduil was positively petulant. "Just comb it through; surely it cannot be that dirty after being washed only yesterday. We must hurry, mellon, or I promise we will regret it. The honour of Imladris is at stake! Would you have it that Lord Elrond's realm fails to place among the top ten in tomorrow's tournament?"

"What? Nay!" Erestor tossed aside the soap and leaped from the water at once, both alarmed and intrigued. Whatever this challenge might be, archery, swords, lances, or even tree-climbing, he was duty bound to represent his country and his kinsman to the very best of his ability. He dried off and dressed quickly, working through his long black tresses with such speed that he actually snapped a few strands in the process. Just as he reached for his hose and shoes, Thranduil stopped him.

"Forego your foot-gear, Erestor. Trust me, where we are going you will not want it. And please remember to address me by name; no titles stand between us." He smiled at Erestor's befuddled look, well aware that the serious statesman had no idea what was going on as Thranduil had not mentioned the event before. Well, perhaps he was having a bit of fun at the Noldorin Lord's expense, but it was not anything that would embarrass or offend the worthy advisor. Much.

"Indeed? Well, if you deem it wise then of course I shall go discalced. Lead on for I am prepared." Erestor hoped this response was sufficiently forceful to impress his host while remaining sufficiently vague to conceal his lapse of memory. Still, he could not suppress a nervous mental twinge of trepidation to note a distinctly devilish gleam appear in the King's eyes.

He followed Thranduil out of the baths and through the labyrinthine corridors of the stronghold, rising in elevation so that he knew they must be nearing ground-level. Sure enough, they turned a corner and a dim glow appeared at the end of the tunnel, too diffuse to be torch or lamp light; they were going outside. They had traversed the way in silence but as soon as they emerged into the open air of the kitchen gardens, Thranduil turned and addressed the counsellor.

"We are nearly too late. See? Already they are moving out in pairs to secure the best ground. Come, we must officially register you and assign you a partner. I hope you do not mind teaming up with my Dragon son, Galu?" Thranduil motioned toward a small table set up near the entrance to the cook's domain. Behind it two official looking elves sat before a large sheaf of vellum and around it buzzed a large knot of Wood Elves, of both Sindarin and sylvan extraction, all dressed similarly to their King. Close by the novice warrior just named was lingering alone, looking terribly uncomfortable and downcast.

"I would be honoured to have him as my companion for this endeavour," announced Erestor, noting that the collected elves were watching and listening keenly whilst pretending no interest whatsoever.

They were noble Lords of the various Houses of the Woodland realm. Lords exclusively, none of the much revered and powerful Ladies of the Clans were present. Everyone was dressed in rough clothes suitable for trekking through the trees, shoeless, and Erestor felt a little out of place in his fine silk trousers and satin tunic embroidered with symbols of the sea. His presence produced quite a stir and a sizeable crowd gathered to watch him register. All fell silent and bowed when the King reached the table, including the two elves seated at the desk who rose from their chairs in order to do so.

Thranduil nodded amiably and took the quill offered him. "I will be competing for the House of Tawar with Legolas, Tawarwaith and youngest Prince of Greenwood, for my partner," he announced and signed the form with great delight amid the approving applause of the assembled elves. He stepped aside for Erestor and signalled for Galu to come forward. The sullen youth did so, head high but bearing a pained expression that marred his comely features. Thranduil wrapped a strong arm about his son's shoulders and presented an encouraging smile.

Meanwhile, Erestor was signing the forms. "I, Erestor of Imladris, will compete for the House of Eärendil. I humbly beseech Galurem, Dragon Prince of Greenwood, to consent to be my partner and aid me to victory in this event." He held out his hand to the wary elf and noted the pleased expression that reworked Galurem's visage.

"I accept your invitation, Lord Erestor, in the spirit of fostering the new accord between our separate realms," Galu said loudly and stepped free of his Adar to grasp the foreigner's arm in warriors' salute.

He ignored the low murmur of displeasure arising amid the Foxes, for he was really relieved not to have to face the shame of being publicly shunned by his grandfather's people. For the first time, he had turned the tables and snubbed them. Plus, he liked being called 'Greenwood's Dragon Prince'. It had a bold and vaguely menacing ring to it and he decided at once that henceforth it would be the motto on his insignia and his seal of signature. To Mordor with those bloody Foxes! I renounce them here and now. He checked his father's reaction and found the King's features almost bursting with pride. A single nod of approval raised Galu's spirits to joy and he completely forgot how much he had been prepared to disdain and scoff at this semi-annual event.

Now Erestor missed none of this and his heart went out to the young warrior, recalling all he had been told of the Fox Clan's prejudice against the offspring of poly-bonded couples, determined to win more for Galu's sake than for Elrond's. At the same time, the seneschal felt truly honoured, for Thranduil had entrusted him with a most delicate situation: the protection of Dragon Prince's status and the bolstering of Galu's wavering self-esteem. This was surely an indication that the Wood Elves' King was not opposed to the notion of fostering his children to the noble Houses of the other elven realms. Recalling the effect of participating in the orc hunt upon arriving in Mirkwood, Erestor decided he simply must come in first, thereby proving his willingness to fully embrace the unique culture of the woodland realm, whatever this mysterious competition might involve.

He leaned close to the auburn-haired warrior and whispered too low for other ears: "I shall depend upon you to guide me, Galu, for I have no idea what kind of tournament I have just entered."

"Be assured," Galu whispered back, "our team shall not win but we will come in just behind the House of Tawar, for since Curóniel's death Legolas' team always takes first. This is by tacit collusion among the noble Houses. Since he is too little to participate fully, one of the family clans competes for Tuiw's House instead of their own. Last year the Ravens had the honour of first place, but the real contest is for the number two spot." He straightened and sent the seneschal a fierce grin.

"Have you your own equipment, Lord Erestor?" asked a tall, dark-haired Lord. Undeniably one of the many descendants of the Lost Twins of Doriath, this ellon leaned upon a spade as he spoke, smiling in genuine goodwill at his many-times-removed cousin from Imladris. "I am Gaearon, Hîr Vain o Noss Craban (Primary Lord of the House of the Ravens). It is a privilege to meet you; long have I been curious about my cousins across Hithaeglir."

"The honour is mine," Erestor dipped his head politely. "It is my hope, and indeed my purpose here, to open the way for satisfying that curiosity."

"Worry not, Lord Gaearon," Galu interrupted the pleasantries and brought the nobles back to the more immediate purpose of the tournament. "I will ensure your kinsman has all that is required to succeed. Prepare to be trounced quite soundly."

"Oh indeed? Would you care to wager on that bold proclamation of superiority, Ernil Amlug (Dragon Prince)?" asked Gaearon, eager to reinforce the new appellation, for he was among the many who deplored the unfair denigration imposed by the Foxes. In the past, the Ravens had participated in this unjust discrimination as well and he was determined to root out the unseemly practice once and for all. He would have petitioned to adopt Galurem into the Ravens had Thranduil not already recognised him as a Lord of the Beeches. Yet now it would seem a new House was arising: Noss Amlug od Eryngalen (House of the Greenwood Dragon), thanks to the seneschal from Imladris.

"Of course we will wager," laughed Galurem. "Long have I admired that fine dagger of yours. Are you confident enough to risk losing it?"

"I will not be risking anything, Galu. You are the one who should be cautious of boasts and brags, for you are the one about to lose that superbly crafted bone-handled hunting knife strapped to your belt. That is, if you still wish to gamble." Gaearon was grinning as he pointed to the weapon.

"Done!" exclaimed Galu.

"Wait," Erestor objected. "I want to know who your partner is for the contest first."

"I am," a voice behind them answered. Galu, Thranduil, and Erestor turned to find Fêrlass standing in much the same stance as his Raven cousin, a long-handled shovel in his hand.

"I shall beat you this year, Raven Dancer," growled Galu.

"Only in your juvenile imagination are such fantasies plausible," sneered the Raven Prince, lip curled in abject disdain, "but should you succeed I will give you my new pair of boots for I know how greatly you covet them. I shall lay claim to your fine ruby broach, however, so be prepared to suffer your Naneth's rage."

"Nay, no heirlooms may be wagered," Thranduil quickly intervened before Galu exploded in outrage, for he knew of the brewing sibling civil war. "That gem is matchless and has been in the Dragon Clan since before the First Age. Come now, Fêrlass, you know that is neither a fair nor proper bet."

"Aye. I offer my humble apologies," he said with an exaggerated bow to his brother. "What then will you put in the pot?"

"I think it is only right, since Galurem is competing for the House of Eärendil, that I provide the counter claim," said Erestor. "Though it is not on my person at the moment, I possess a dagger forged by Celebrimbor himself. It is no relic of my House, yet is still a worthy article. What say you to that, Raven Dancer?"

Shooting a quick glance to his cohort in the tournament to ensure his support, Fêrlass nodded. "I accept your wager, Lord Erestor. I wish you good fortune for you will have great need of it."

"Hah! You must be blind in the dark, for I already have Many Blessings at my right hand," reproved Erestor. "Pray instead for your own trials."

"And I have a worthy veteran of the wars of Beleriand at mine," added Galurem, elated for all to hear the famous counsellor's confident words. "You will not finish ahead of us."

"We shall see," intoned Gaearon and bowed to Thranduil as he and Fêrlass left, heaving their shovels on their shoulder as they went.

"Well played," remarked Thranduil, laying his hand firmly on his Dragon son's shoulder. "Yet your team-mate has no gear at all and I have not fetched mine either. Let us get our spades and go or all the best spots will be claimed. Should that befall us, then no matter how great our skill the contest will be lost for certain."

"Ai! Legolas would be terribly upset, Adar; that must not happen," Galu said. He tugged Erestor's arm to get him in motion and led the way to one of the many outbuildings surrounding the stronghold. Inside were various gardening implements, including an exceptionally large number of digging tools of different sizes and for different uses. The Dragon Prince selected a sturdy looking spade with a broad rounded blade and held it out to Erestor. "This one should suit your height well enough."

"My thanks," replied the advisor, taking it somewhat gingerly in hand, wondering if the contest involved tunnelling or ditch-digging or harvesting truffles.

Thranduil hefted a blunt-edged shovel and Galu took a more pointed one, each smiling in conspiratorial delight as if these simple items were great and powerful weapons the nature of which was secret. Erestor began to wonder if perhaps that was so, considering the magic he had already witnessed, and gripped his a little tighter. Then Galu handed out small dark-lanterns and canvas bags with shoulder straps. Erestor accepted these graciously, thoroughly mystified yet still unwilling to admit his ignorance to the King.

"Ready?" asked Thranduil, smiling with unhidden glee as he lit all the lanterns and slid the covers down to conceal the bright light.

"Aye. Lead on," Erestor answered boldly and followed them into the night.

They strode purposefully across the grounds and through the gardens, navigated diagonally over the barracks and training fields, and finally plunged into the dark of the woods. They did not speak and their naked feet made no noise. Erestor was grateful that Thranduil was ahead of him with Galu at his back, for he was almost instantly lost, his normal sense of direction erased by the close cover of the mighty trees and the lack of illumination. He stumbled in the murk, muffling a curse as his bare big toe collided with a root, or something else equally unyielding, stepped back onto a dry twig which snapped with a loud report, hopped off it right onto a particularly large, hard and pointy thing that was either an acorn or a rock, and yelped.

"Shhhh!" the Dragon Prince and the Sindarin King hissed, one of them reaching out to steady the staggering Noldorin nobleman.

"What are you doing?" Thranduil's agitated whisper wafted close to Erestor's ear. "They will hear you."

"Sorry," the seneschal shrugged unhappily, worried a bit about what manner of animal his blundering may have alerted. He lifted his eyes to the hidden network of branches, seeing nothing but imagining the legendary Mirkwood spiders lurking overhead. The urge to flee was strong and countered only by his dread of shaming himself. That and the rugged nature of the unseen path. If there is a path at all. He really could not understand why he had to go without his shoes in such wild terrain and wondered how tough the soles of his companions' feet must be to endure such hazards. Either that or they can see in the dark.

"It is pointless to continue; this site is useless for they will all have fled at the first disturbance," Galu's harsh words were faint but packed with disappointed disgust. "We must move on to the secondary location."

"Agreed," said Thranduil and turned in a new direction, this time keeping a firm hold upon his guest's arm to spare him further mishap.

They walked a long time, or at least it seemed like a long time to Erestor, unaccustomed to prowling about in the pitch of night in the deep of an enchanted wood. All around him he could hear the scurrying and shuffling of nocturnal critters fleeing from their advance. Every now and then, a silent shadow glided past his head and he instinctively ducked low, not realising it was but an owl. Once, he thought he heard other elves moving about and caught the distant gleam of a lantern. That was followed by a squishy sort of thud and vaguely maniacal cackling. Then Thranduil tugged him sharply left and the way ahead suddenly brightened. He heard the faint sound of water flowing and spied a little clearing beside a small brook. His next step made an unpleasant sort of squelching sound and Erestor had to bite back the cry that rose to his lips as his leg plunged up to the knee in cold, reeking, marshy mud.

They had stumbled into a bog.

Panic gripped the advisor's heart and he dug his fingers into Thranduil's arm, tugging with all his might to yank his leg free. The limb came loose with a sucking pop but the force had been too great and Erestor over-balanced, landing on his rear in the vile soup. He could not hold back the shout of disgust and real fear that fled his lungs as his body quickly submerged in the viscous stuff all the way up to his breast-bone.

"Valar! Pull him up!" cried Galu, casting aside his shovel and lamp to grab Erestor's other arm.

"What do you think I am attempting to do?" snapped Thranduil between gasps and grunts. With a mighty heave they yanked Erestor upright and the King nearly went over backward himself but for Galu's quick snatch of his tunic. They all stood panting and clinging to one another, the Noldorin Lord once more on solid ground. Finally, Erestor found his voice.

"What are you trying to do to me?" he demanded, not a little peeved to be wet and stinking and he was sure some kind of crawling thing had crawled inside his pants leg. It bit him with sharp needle-like teeth just below the knee and Erestor jumped. He swatted at the stinging spot and shook his leg frantically and a very large black worm slithered out and slank away. "Ugh! This is intolerable!"

"I am sorry, mellonen, but I had no idea you would have this sort of difficulty manoeuvring through the forest," Thranduil placated.

"Please lower your voices," warned Galu. "This spot is now also ruined. Lord Erestor, I thought you wanted to win this contest?"

"What? Yes, but no one explained that I would be traipsing through swamps and swimming in quick-mud," fussed the seneschal.

"A good hot bath will fix all, will it not?" the King soothed. "The reward is well worth this small discomfort."

"Small discomfort?" Erestor was miffed to hear his heart-stopping experience so trivialised.

"Aye, everyone in Greenwood gets stuck in the mud at least once, even the very best trackers," said Galu. "You cannot seriously be considering quitting before we have collected even a single one."

"Especially since you had one and just let it go," complained Thranduil. "You dropped your spade, too, and now it has gone under the surface."

"Had one? What are you talking about?"

"We shall have to risk the light," sighed Galu. He uncovered his lantern just a sliver and gasped. "Look! Adar, they seem to like Lord Erestor's disturbance after all."

"Indeed! That or they like Lord Erestor. Mellon, do you think you could step back in the mud? I promise to hold on to you tightly," the King smiled as if this was a perfectly reasonable request.

Thranduil sounded very pleased and quite serious and Erestor wished he had his shovel for he would dearly love to bash the grinning Sindarin Lord over the head with it. "You must be mad," he said.

"Lord Erestor, do not move," whispered Galu as he slowly crouched low. "There is one trying to get to your toe."

Erestor looked down at his foot to find an even larger black worm flashing its ivory teeth at him. Just before he could lift his heel and squash it, his Dragon partner snatched it up and dropped it in the canvas bag. It was then he noticed the ground moving.

"Excellent, we have no need to dig up their burrows," breathed Galu softly. "They all want a taste of our guest. Foreign blood attracts them, I suppose. At this rate we shall fill our sacks in minutes." He hastily nabbed the wriggling crawlers as they converged upon the seneschal from Imladris, who was carefully inching away, minding the bog, of course.

"Aye. Move a bit to the right, Erestor, there are two trying to sneak up on your ankle," encouraged Thranduil, stooping to aid in gathering up the fabled blue carnivorous mere-worms of Mirkwood. "Ai! One got me."

"You are getting too slow for this game, Ada," snickered Galu.

"I was bitten, too," groused Erestor. "They are not poisonous, are they?"

The King and his Prince shared a look and then trained their eyes upon the visiting nobleman, Galu lifting the lantern so to grant the advisor full view of their matched, incredulous expressions.

"Ah, yes. Silly thing to ask," Erestor laughed nervously. This is Mirkwood; of course the earthworms have sharp teeth and poison venom.

"No need to be alarmed, it is not potent enough to cause sickness much less death," assured Thranduil. "The only way you might die is if you just stood there and allowed all of them to slink up and sink their teeth in. They do not eat flesh, you see, they just want to suck your blood. The wound will itch for a few days but we have an ointment that works well enough."

"Aye, for Wood Elves," intoned Galu, suddenly concerned. "We have long Ages ago become acclimated to the many types of poisons found here. Erestor has never even visited before and I am quite sure there are no mere-worms like this in Imladris. What if he has a severe reaction?"

Both royals rose and uncovered their lanterns fully, not caring that the bright light scared away the nocturnal creepers, and examined Erestor's face closely.

"You are joking, certainly," Erestor smiled weakly as he looked from one to the other.

"Nay," said Thranduil. "Galu may be right. Please believe me; I had no intention of putting you in harm's way, Lord Erestor."

"Do you feel at all strange?" asked Galu.

Standing shoeless in the gloomy woods with his fine clothes ruined and plastered to his cold, wet skin; covered in swamp slime and the most noxious smelling mud he had ever smelled, with a burning, itching potentially fatal mere-worm bite on his leg, Erestor remained silent.

"Right," said Thranduil briskly, gathering up their discarded spades and snatching the tail end of one last worm before it could disappear underground. "This collecting trip is done. We must get back and have the healer give you a general antidote, just to be safe."

No further discussion took place and the three hunters hurried back to the stronghold. Erestor found himself truly frightened, for the King's haste and Galu's silence combined to make him dread the worst. Fortunately, Thranduil knew a quicker means back to his underground castle for the seneschal lost feeling in his foot just as the lights of the courtyard came into view. He was whisked away to the infirmary, had to endure being stripped and bathed by strangers, though they were healers and entirely clinical in their procedure, and then was made to drink down a truly vile potion that tasted more like troll dung than anything the advisor had ever consumed before, except troll dung. Just as the sun was rising he was settled in a nice clean bed in a private ward and left alone to wallow in his misery. No sooner had the healers left him than Galu entered, taking a seat by the Noldorin Lord's bedside.



"The antidote was administered in time," he announced happily. "You will not lose your foot after all."



"I am pleased to hear it," grumbled Erestor, "but I would much rather be in my own rooms just now. Do you think you could help me escape from here?"



"Not a chance! I know better than to disobey the law of the infirmary. I have to come here if I become injured, remember, and I can tell you from experience that these healing folk are quite merciless when it comes to enforcing their prescriptions. I know for a fact they once had Adar tied to the bed frame when he was bitten by a warg, for he insisted on trying to leave before he was officially released."



"Now that must have been something to see," chuckled Erestor, feeling much better about his confinement. He smiled at Galu, realising the youth had probably invented that tale just to cheer him up, and wished he had not spoiled their chance to win the competition. "I am sorry we had to stop so soon. I imagine our catch of mere-worms will be far below that of the other hunters."



"Aye, but the number of worms is not really the deciding factor in who wins and who loses," informed Galu. "There are other types of bait to use and much depends upon locating the richest spawning grounds. Fear not; we shall come out ahead of those Ravens."



Erestor was silent a moment or two as he processed the words 'bait' and 'spawning' and their inescapable connotations. He shuddered, imagining the sort of water creature that chose to lay eggs in the murky waters flowing through the shadows beneath the dark, twisted trees. "You are telling me the contest was not to see who could collect the most worms?"



"Of course not!" Galu snorted. "What skill is required in that? Nay, the competition is what you suspect: a fish hunt. We go to harvest Daer Caran Lanthir Cabedron (Great Red Waterfall Leaper). They return twice a year to the lower cataracts of the Central Mountains, there to mate and raise their young. I have already asked the healers and they are certain you will be fit enough to man the nets."



"How delightful," mumbled Erestor. his smile slipping into a sickly parody of Galu's beautific grin.


TBC

~ Note 01/07/2008 ~ BALROG UPDATED! I can hardly believe it myself. This scene has been in my head so long I almost believed I had actually written it out somewhere. One thing you may notice, Galu was described as brunet in the Roster, but I just can't see him that way in my mind. Back when I wrote that little run down on the siblings, he wasn't as much a part of the story. It was all going to be about Ferlass, Annûn, and Sîrgel as far as the sibs go, all their interaction revolving around Legolas, of course. Galu became more important in the chapter before this, however, as some might have noted. I've given him auburn hair now. {shrugs.} Can't help it, I really like red hair.


Also, I apologise for stopping here, there is quite a bit more, of course, and Little Legolas did not get to make an appearance. He is foremost in the next part, along with Cugu and Toloth, which I shall try to post next weekend. This chapter sets the stage for an important event describing how the divided power system in Greenwood operates and what exactly Thranduil's role in government is. And of course, we have the first stirrings of the Sibling Civil War. My deepest gratitude for everyone who has shared their love of this tale with me!